


The Totem Pole

by YoroiNoKyojin



Category: Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Culture, Gen, Moral Lessons, Native American Character(s), One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 14:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoroiNoKyojin/pseuds/YoroiNoKyojin
Summary: Scorpion's hunt for Quan Chi takes him to Earthrealm. However, the ninja spectre is soon confronted by several Lin Kuei warriors and the fight is overwhelming. A severely injured Scorpion is found on Earthrealm soil by the Lakhota shaman Nightwolf, who teaches him some life lessons... but Scorpion hadn't expected for his entire life to be turned upside down.One-shot.





	The Totem Pole

** _The Totem Pole_ **

* * *

As Scorpion set foot on Earthrealm soil, having just come out of a hellfire portal with the stink of the Netherrealm still freshly clinging to his clothes, he had momentary doubts.

He hadn’t been here in… years. 

But here he was now, still chasing that bastard sorcerer who took everything from him. It was unheard of for the sorcerer to make trips to Earthrealm of all places, but if his sources were correct, Quan Chi was headed to the Sky Temple -- why, Scorpion was unclear, but he didn’t really care why. The reasons for the sorcerer’s visit were unimportant -- because as soon as the ninja spectre got his hands on the white-washed worm, he’d die an agonizing death. For his betrayals, lies, and manipulation.

It was ironic; he’d resurrected the former Shirai Ryu to wreak havoc on the Lin Kuei, and here he was with his own creation hunting him down. How the tables turned.

Scorpion began his journey, boots treading roughly on the dewy morning grass and flattening it with his hurried steps. He wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t rest until he’d beaten Quan Chi to the Sky Temple. 

But fate had a funny way of… well, turning the tables.

\---------------

Running into a battalion of Lin Kuei warriors hadn’t been on his list of things to do, but it had happened and the battle had been brutal. He’d managed to take down a large number of them on his own, but eventually had been left bloodied and beaten by the remainder of the group. After the whole ordeal he couldn’t even remember who’d initiated the fight but they’d left him for dead and he would take a while to recover -- if he recovered at all. At this rate he would have to resurrect himself… which would mean he would be consumed by hate and would have to relive the pain of his loss all over again. He loathed it; every time he witnessed the deaths of his family and clan, he lost a piece of himself, never to return.

But vengeance must be had.

He laid there for a time, waiting for this mortal body to die so he could come back. He wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop until Quan Chi was silenced forever. So the spectre closed his eyes and waited for the embrace of a physical death.

But instead, he was met with the sudden sound of a low voice thick with an accent. “_ Háu kȟolá.” _

White, blank eyes opened to find a vaguely familiar figure standing over him with a neutral expression. “Shaman,” was the ninja’s croaked, terse greeting.

A hint of a smile quirked the corner of Nightwolf’s mouth. “Just now, I greeted you in the language of my people; the Lakhota language. It means, ‘hello, friend.’ I’m not here to harm you, Hanzo Hasashi.”

The ninja didn’t bother to correct the shaman on the usage of his former name, instead just looking at him with furrowed brows. If he wasn’t going to finish him off, what was his purpose? “You would be doing me a service,” he muttered, his voice rattling from the blood in his lungs.

“I can do you an even greater one.” Nightwolf seemed serene and confident. Scorpion wondered what the native was thinking, but considering their difference in morals and goals, he suspected it was nothing he would be interested in. Some mystical voodoo he didn’t want to be a part of, no doubt.

Scorpion had come to the sudden realization that he was really, really weary of sorcerers.

“Keep your magic away from me,” the ninja growled, before lurching from a sharp pain in his abdomen. “I want none of it. End me.”

The shaman merely stared at the ninja for a long moment, before silently moving to lift him up off the ground and slinging the non-broken arm over his shoulder. Not saying a word, Nightwolf began half-dragging Scorpion across the ground with seemingly no destination. “Where are you taking me? Unhand me!” Scorpion demanded, suddenly enraged. He could feel that hellfire welling up within him and suddenly his body was surrounded by flames, flames that had all intentions of burning his “rescuer.” But upon a glance to the side, Scorpion could see that the shaman had put up glowing green barriers where their bodies made contact. Smart, but also irritating. In this state, he had no other way to stop Nightwolf from… well, doing anything.

After a long while of trying to struggle in a futile effort to free himself, Scorpion finally fell limp and just allowed the shaman to drag him wherever they were going. It was a quiet hour later when they arrived at a glowing campfire in the middle of a clearing at the edge of a forest. The trees seemed to be alive, but not in the same way as the trees of the Living Forest, which were known to eat men whole; no, these trees were filled with life, leaves glowing with vibrant colors as if the entire forest were in celebration. It was the kind of life that resembled… hope. 

In another lifetime, he probably would have enjoyed it here.

Nightwolf carefully set him on the ground near the fire, before moving away to crouch by a tree stump and rifle through a sheepskin bag. The light of the flames bounced off of his long dark hair as he searched for something, his dark eyes intent on his query…. But all the spectre saw was a magic-user who had thwarted his plans in the past, and seemingly was doing so again. Quan Chi was probably almost to the Sky Temple now; there was no way Scorpion would catch him before he left Earthrealm and was untraceable once more. Would this game of cat-and-mouse with the sorcerer last forever? Would the ninja be doomed to restlessly wander the realms in search of his prey until the end of time? 

If he had to, he would.

“My medicine is enhanced with the healing powers of my ancestors,” Nightwolf said as he approached, drawing Scorpion’s attention back to him. The native was holding a small wooden container, probably containing the aforementioned medicine. Although magic was what had given Scorpion these powers and was currently binding his immortal soul to this never-ending chain of resurrection, and had given him the opportunity to avenge the deaths of his family, clan, and himself, he still wanted nothing to do with it.   
  
“Don’t touch me!” Scorpion roared as the shaman knelt down to apply the medicine. His struggles began anew, although they were useless considering the broken state his body was in. Nightwolf managed to apply the ointment with relative ease, and the spectre could feel tingles spreading over his skin, tingles that had a deceptive way of making him feel… well, human again. But still, anger overwhelmed him and he found himself bellowing in rage and bursting into flames, singeing the grass beneath him. 

Nightwolf simply waited until the ninja’s rage subsided before interacting with him. “Your wounds will heal more quickly now,” he said serenely, stowing the wooden container in his large sheepskin bag and moving to tend to the campfire. Scorpion had half a mind to stoke the flames of that fire just to see the shaman’s face melt off but didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. Those Lin Kuei warriors had beaten him all to hell… and there was something about this forest of serenity that seemed to drain the fight out of him. 

Two days passed, and Nightwolf diligently tended to the spectre’s wounds, as well as feeding him and giving him water. Throughout this time Nightwolf talked, telling the ninja stories of his people and his ancestors, as well as histories of his clan through the generations. Scorpion mostly tuned it out, but there were moments where he found himself mildly interested. Still, even during those times, his thoughts lingered on Quan Chi. He’d been resurrected for a reason, and he would not be able to rest until he’d accomplished that goal. No amount of stories could change that. 

One evening, Scorpion was propped up against the trunk of a large oak, his legs spread out in front of him. He was doing rather well, considering his legs were still mending as well as many other various bones, and was even feeding himself some broth the native shaman had made over the fire. Nightwolf sat on a log on the other side of the campfire, sharpening a tomahawk and humming a somber tune under his breath. “Why have you done this?” Scorpion suddenly found himself asking. “We are enemies. We have no responsibility to each other.”

“I saw you in a vision,” said the red-skinned man. “My ancestors gave me this vision while I slept, months ago. I knew when I found you a few days ago that I had to do this.”

Cryptic. And annoying. “I’ve no time for mind games,” the ninja snapped. “What do you want from me? Why decide that I owe you my life?”

Nightwolf’s expression was unchanged. “You have plenty of time,” was his quaint reply. “But I digress. You owe me nothing, Hanzo Hasashi. I follow the will of the spirits, nothing more.” He pursed his lips, eyes searching the ninja opposite him for… something. Something Scorpion himself could not detect. “But I see the rage within you, bright and scorching. Friend, it is not the Lin Kuei who are tearing your soul apart. It is your own pain. You must let it go.”

“What do you know about my pain?” the ninja demanded angrily. If he had the strength, he would’ve attempted to kill the damned shaman by now. He’d heard enough of his lecturing.

“It is killing you.”

“It is what keeps me ALIVE!” Scorpion roared, the campfire’s flames suddenly growing with his swelling rage. It also seemed like the blazing fire was somehow leaning in Nightwolf’s direction, as if trying to reach for him and wrap around him in fury.

Nightwolf was unmoving. He simply stared calmly at the spectre. “Can you honestly call your endless search for Quan Chi being ‘alive’?” He leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting intently. “When was the last time you felt joy? Hope?”

Scorpion gave pause. He was still bristling with anger, but he was silent, and the flames of their campfire had gone down to a glowing simmer. Finally, after a long silence: “My pain is all I have. I’m nothing without it... Revenge is my only purpose.”

“It doesn’t have to be, friend,” was Nightwolf’s tranquil reply. “Let me teach you a lesson that’s been passed down through many native cultures. There are two wolves inside each of us; one is evil, seeking greed, selfishness, revenge, and power. The other is righteous, seeking love, hope, joy, and selflessness. They battle endlessly for control of our spirits. Do you know which wolf will win?”

The ninja fought the urge to roll his eyes. This story was predictable. “The righteous one?” he guessed with an irritated edge to his voice.

Nightwolf smirked. “Whichever one you feed, _ kȟolá.” _

“I’m not your friend,” Scorpion growled. The shaman’s lesson hadn’t been what he’d expected. He’d assumed the native would spout out some senseless garble about how good would always prevail over evil… which often wasn’t true. Scorpion’s own life was an example of that. What he took away from Nightwolf’s story was that everyone had a choice to make, to live their lives for good or for evil. But the spectre’s choice had been taken from him when his family had been murdered in cold blood and he’d been resurrected to take revenge. What would even happen to him if his purpose was taken away? Would he crumble to dust? Would his soul be taken, or just… float away? Would he return to the eternal slumber of death or would he be given another chance at life?

What would he even do with that second chance if he got it?

Scorpion finally turned his gaze back on Nightwolf and opened his mouth to speak, but found that the native had already turned his back and laid down to rest. 

\----------

The next day when Scorpion awoke, he found Nightwolf applying more of his special ointment to the ever-healing wounds on the ninja’s body. At this point he didn’t bother to put up a fight anymore so he instead let his gaze wander, and he soon found his eyes drawn to a large carved wooden pole that depicted several animals on it. If his guesses were correct, then on the bottom of the pole was a badger; sitting on top of it was a boar, above the boar was a buffalo, atop the buffalo was a bear, and resting on the apex of the pole was… ironically enough, a wolf. Scorpion stared at the intricately carved pole the entire time Nightwolf worked on him, trying to figure out why the animals were carved into that wooden pole, if they were important, and why the wolf was at the top of the pole. 

The shaman must’ve noticed his staring because Scorpion soon heard his deep voice breaking his focus. “You see my totem pole.”

“So that’s what it’s called.”

“Yes,” the native answered with a quite pride. “They are very significant among my people. We believe that we are guided through life by various spirit animals. You decide which animals are most spiritually important to you, and you can carve a totem pole to honor them. We also use them to tell stories. The top of the totem, or the head of the totem, signifies either the end of a story, or what is most important to a person or their family.”

“You chose the wolf,” Scorpion murmured.

“I, like you, have experienced tragedy in my life,” Nightwolf said solemnly. “It is not tragedy that should define us, but what we choose to make of ourselves despite our history. The story of the wolf is what keeps me on the right path.” The native sat back from his work to peer curiously at the ninja. “Would you like to carve your own totem, since it looks like you may be here a while longer?”

Scorpion’s brows furrowed. “I have no experience in woodwork.”

“You use a carving knife the same way you might use your blade,” was Nightwolf’s reassuring reply as he put a blade in the spectre’s bloodied hands and stood up to retrieve something from across the camp. He came back with a smooth, cylindrical piece of oak wood that was about a foot tall. “I was going to carve one in honor of an old friend,” he said as he handed it over. “But I believe it will be of better use to you.”

“I don’t know what to carve,” Scorpion muttered as he looked between the kneeling native and the wood in his hands.

“First, you must choose a number of animals that have significance to your life,” was Nightwolf’s instruction. “It can be any number of them. Most only have a few. I have four. You choose these animals by how relevant they are to your life. It could be an animal you have an attachment to, an animal you dream of often, or an animal that seems to appear in your life as if it was coincidence. Whatever you may choose, you must carve what your spirit leads you to carve.”

“That doesn’t help at all.” The spectre’s white eyes focused on the wood in his tight grip. It had been carefully chopped and sanded down to be smooth and devoid of any chips or cracks. It must’ve taken the shaman hours upon hours to achieve such a beautifully-crafted piece of timber, and yet it was just given to Scorpion on a whim. He had many questions, the most prominent being why he was even doing this, but those questions were left unspoken because Nightwolf got up and left him alone, presumably to think.

And think, he did. Not necessarily about animals, but about himself and his life -- well, former life. About Harumi and Satoshi… about the cruel, undeserved fate that befell them… but moreso about who they were, what they’d wanted. He thought about Harumi’s dark hair and the way she’d smiled at him, or chided him when he encouraged Satoshi’s fantasies of joining the Shirai Ryu. About how she smelled like spring and blooming flowers. About how Satoshi’s eyes lit up when they played hunting games together, or when he first learned to wield a sword. 

He didn’t even notice the tears that had fallen from his empty eyes until after they dissolved into his mask. 

Without provocation, his hands began moving and the knife began cutting and scraping into the smooth wooden pole in his grasp. 

\--------

A voice stirred the ninja spectre from his deep slumber and his white eyes cracked open to find Nightwolf crouching across from him, fingers running over the small totem that Scorpion had carved earlier. A small smile was on his face. “Crudely made, but it’s filled with passion and emotion,” he complimented him. His dark eyes shifted down to the totem before meeting Scorpion’s face again. “A bull at the bottom of the totem; interesting. A bull is passionate, rushes into things, wears their heart on their sleeve. It’s fitting for you. Next I see a wolf… I can only imagine if it’s because you have an affinity for them, or because of my story.”

The shaman flashed another grin before his eyes gazed intently at the carved totem, studying it. “A gorilla, second from the top -- gorillas are family-oriented and intelligent. They keep the peace by force -- through aggression.” Nightwolf’s eyes roamed to the top of the totem and a genuine smile curled his lips. “And at the top… your namesake. A Scorpion spirit represents chaos, passion; strength and transformation… death, and rebirth. It’s very ironic how different cultures can interpret things so similarly.”

If he’d been anyone else, the ninja would’ve been blushing from embarrassment at his choices being interpreted so thoroughly. He felt like his soul had been bared and Nightwolf had free reign to peer into it. Snatching the totem away from the shaman, he held it protectively and looked up at the canopy of tree tops overhead. “I didn’t choose these animals,” he retorted angrily. “My hands just… moved.”

“Then they chose you,” Nightwolf said assuredly with a smile as he stood to his feet and began preparing a meal. 

\---------

Scorpion was subject to more of Nightwolf’s cultural stories and life lessons over the next few days; but time moved so quickly now that he didn’t even bother to complain about it. Soon enough he was on his feet again. His first instinct was to leave and never look back, but a warning from Nightwolf kept him stationary for the moment: “The Lin Kuei roam many parts of this area on patrols. You’d best only leave this place when we can know that they won’t come around. You wouldn’t survive another match with them.”

“I don’t care,” was the ninja’s reply, but he decided to stay anyways. For what reason… he was unsure. 

That night, an unbidden question bubbled up inside Scorpion and without even realizing, he’d asked: “How do I do it?”

Nightwolf looked up from his stew. “Do what?”

The ninja was disturbed at his own thought process, but it was already out now so he might as well roll with it, right? “You spoke of getting rid of my pain,” he murmured irritably. “How??”

The native lowered his bowl slowly into his lap, staring at his unlikely companion for a long moment. Finally: “Your soul is tainted, both with the stink of the Netherrealm and the dark magic that brought you back from the beyond. That darkness lingers within you, as does your pain. If you get rid of one, so too shall the other disappear.”

“Speak plainly, worm!” the ninja growled impatiently. “Do not play mind games with me!”

Nightwolf sighed. “Your soul must be cleansed of darkness.” Setting down his half-empty bowl, his hands settled on his knees and he prepared to stand. “I can do it. But you must dedicate yourself to the process. It will take many years.”

“I don’t _ HAVE _ that kind of time!” Scorpion snapped, standing and throwing his hands up. “I must find Quan Chi before someone else does!!”

As the ninja prepared to leave, Lin Kuei be damned, Nightwolf moved to stop him, setting a hand on his shoulder. Immediately flames burst from Scorpion’s shoulder in retaliation and before the two knew it, they were throwing punches in a fast-paced, furious fight. “Cease this madness!” Nightwolf pleaded as he fended the spectre off. “I’m trying to help you!”

“You’ve SLOWED ME DOWN!” Scorpion roared as he sent his chain forward to try and pierce his opponent. Nightwolf side-stepped and swatted it out of the way, playing defense to the yellow-clad ninja’s offense.

“If you would just cleanse the darkness from your soul, you won’t NEED to hunt Quan Chi anymore!” The shaman continued to try to talk sense into the attacking spectre. Sometimes words were useless. Sometimes a fight needed to be had. But in this case, Nightwolf _ knew _his words and his patience had affected the ninja. He knew he could reach him, if Scorpion would only listen. 

But currently he was too enraged to hear anything, so Nightwolf battled it out with him until the fight was decided with a single kick. A particular spot on the back of Scorpion’s leg was still healing, so the shaman placed a hard, well-aimed kick at the area and the hellfire ninja was on his knees in an instance. An energized, green Tomahawk was inches from his face. It was only then that Scorpion took a moment to clear his mind and assess the situation. As his eyes darted around the campsite fervently, he spotted it.

His totem, lying abandoned on the ground a few yards away.

The totem he’d carved, all by himself. He barely remembered doing it, but he did very clearly remember the tears he’d shed. No one in this life had brought out such emotion other than rage. If Nightwolf had that power, what else could he do? Could he really take away his eternal pain? His rage? His lust for revenge?

The spectre lifted his hands and Nightwolf allowed him to stand up straight, before the energized Tomahawk disappeared and the two were left in silence with only the crackle of the campfire nearby. The quiet stretched on for several minutes longer. It seemed that Nightwolf was allowing Scorpion to gather his thoughts and initiate conversation.

Finally, he did. “How can I let go of the pain when it is all I feel?”

Nightwolf’s voice was soft. “What were you thinking about when you carved your totem?”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything.”

“Hmm,” was the shaman’s thoughtful reply. “Who did you see, while you carved?”

Scorpion opened his mouth to give the same answer, but he paused. “Harumi… and Satoshi.” After a moment, he elaborated. “My wife… and my son.”

“What would they say if they were here?”

“Harumi would tell me to let it go.”

“Then why do you persist, Hanzo Hasashi?”

Scorpion didn’t bother to correct him on the name. Instead, he heaved a small sigh. “... I don’t know.”

“The Shirai Ryu are all but extinct… and they will continue to be so, unless you rebuild.”

White eyes widened and moved to stare at the smiling native. “Absurd. Anyone who shares my blood is dead.”

“It is the strength of a person’s valor, not their blood, that makes them worthy, is it not?” Nightwolf set a hand on the spectre’s shoulder. “I can cleanse your soul from its dark taint. It will take years to do so… but once you are free from your pain, you can begin to rebuild your clan and protect Earthrealm from evil… like the sorcerer who imprisoned and manipulated you.”

Scorpion was deep in thought over Nightwolf’s suggestions, but on the outside he was still shaking his head skeptically. “I don’t know,” he muttered, before finally glancing over at the shaman. “How does this... ‘cleanse’ begin…?”

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” the native said confidently with a hand on the ninja’s shoulder. “Tonight, we will begin our training.”

“Training?”

“You must learn how to cleanse yourself the way my people have done for many generations.” Nightwolf’s voice was reassuring. “Our animal spirits will guide us through this journey, _ kȟolá. _Together.”

\--------------

[ 10 years later. ]

“You’ve done well, Takeda.”

“Thank you, Master Hasashi.” Takeda Takahashi bowed lowly to his mentor, who returned the gesture and left the dojo to meditate. Meditation was a very important part of the Shirai Ryu lifestyle, and Takeda had always been pretty good at it. But, after having watched Master Hasashi, Takeda surmised that there was no one who seemed quite as strong and invigorated after an hour of meditation. It was almost… almost like the Shirai Ryu leader wasn’t just closing his eyes and resting, or practicing self-reflection, but like he was communicating with an unseen force or being. And even after being asked a hundred times, Master Hasashi would never reveal his secrets; he would only say that Takeda was “not ready yet.” He had no idea what that even meant, but he trusted his teacher with his life and knew that he would be taught the proper techniques when the time was right. 

After practicing a few of the day’s new techniques on his own, Takeda cooled down by wandering the dojo and examining all of the decorations Master Hasashi had set up since rebuilding the clan and the Shirai Ryu village. He was interrupted by another boy, much younger than himself, poking his head in the door hesitantly. “I-Is Master Hasashi around?” he asked.

Takeda smiled. “I think he’s in the Fire Garden. But he should not be disturbed; he’s meditating.”

“O-Okay, I’ll wait,” the boy said, and disappeared. Takeda spent the next hour reading through some old scrolls that were set up on the walls, examining priceless art works and other various ornaments that were carefully put on top of various shelves. One in particular caught his eye; it was a wooden pole about a foot long that had four animals crudely carved into it. The carpenter here was no master, but the young Shirai Ryu could tell that a lot of heart and passion had been put into the piece. On the bottom sat a bull -- he could tell by the horns and the large nose. Above the bull was a wolf, with a long snout and piercing eyes; on top of that was a gorilla, with a large and powerful face. 

And on the very top was a scorpion.

Instantly Takeda knew who this idol belonged to, and he moved to carefully put it back -- but he was interrupted by another voice, one filled with quiet amusement. “You see my totem.”

“Your what, Master?”

“It’s a totem pole. They can depict different stories or various animals that are important to the totem’s maker.” Hanzo Hasashi stepped into the dojo, approaching his young pupil serenely. “The scorpion means passion, rebirth. I was rebirthed, as was the Shirai Ryu. You can see why the scorpion is an important symbol of our clan.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Takeda mused. “This isn’t a Shirai Ryu tradition, is it?”

Hanzo shook his head and a small hint of a smile curled his lips. His gaze seemed far off, as if he was in deep thought or in remembrance.

“No. But perhaps one day, it could be.”


End file.
